Fixation
by DC41781
Summary: Norman spirals further into insanity. Dylan and Norma connect over their quest to save him.
1. Chapter 1

_I need to know; is this real love? Or is it just madness keeping us afloat?_

_Madness- __**Muse**_

For the first time in months, it's quiet. No gunshots or screaming matches or pot smokers; just the two of them, sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast like normal people. Norma's left eye is still slightly black from her showdown with Abernathy, but besides that and a few other scrapes, she feels better than she has in a long time. The gun she used takes up space in her vanity drawer, silver and glinting like the smile of an old friend. Dylan's proud of her; he knows what it's like to hold that kind of power in your hands. It's the kind of thing that can really fuck with you, but Norma doesn't wear it like a badge. She did what she had to do and now it's over. Finally.

At least, that part of the nightmare is over. There's a whole other side that's even worse.

And, Dylan has to tell her. He just isn't sure how. He takes a long sip of his orange juice and watches her wearily over the rim of the glass. She notices, of course. She always notices.

"What is it, Dylan?"

Slowly, he drops the glass back to the table, listens intently to the soft thud that resounds when it hits. He glances in the direction of the staircase, hoping beyond hope that Norman stays asleep during this conversation.

His blue eyes lock onto his mother's face; he looks exhausted, worn down and defeated. It's the worst feeling in the entire world and he has to share it with her or he'll explode.

"I have to tell you something." He swallows, preparing himself for the inevitable. "Norman…" Dylan doesn't know why this is so difficult. Norma shared her secret about her late husband with him; this secret wasn't harder than that. Well, maybe it was.

Norma's eyes widen. "What about Norman?"

"He, uh…he had this dream a few nights ago. About that girl, Bradley."

"Okay." She seems displeased, maybe even disgusted. Dylan has to hold back a laugh. It's the same old song and dance.

"It wasn't anything…sexual, Norma. It was much worse. He dreamt that he was drowning her."

* * *

All he can see is blood. It drips from the ceiling, fills the cracks in the floor. It gathers around his feet and all he can hear is the slosh of his footsteps. Pictures hang on the walls; Sam Bates and Keith Summers and Zach Shelby and finally, Jake Abernathy. The victims who'd fallen, the blood that stains the room. Norman runs his fingers along the portraits, one to the other. These men paid the price, but not at his hand. That honor belonged to his mother and his brother, the alpha and omega of his fucked up family.

* * *

Norma's pupils seem ready to burst. "He did what?"

Dylan sighs. "He dreamt that he was drowning her, Norma. He dreamt that he _killed_ her in a bathtub."

She glances around the kitchen, the movements frantic and desperate. She's looking for anything; anything she can hold onto in this moment; anything that could save her son. Tears spring to her eyes and she tries like hell to keep them at bay. She fails miserably.

Dylan feels helpless sitting there watching his mother fall apart for what seems like the millionth time in weeks. She rises from the table and he follows her with his gaze as she walks to the stove. She's still for a few moments and he wonders if she's breathing. Then, she slams her hand down hard as she can, again and again and again, her frustration coming to life and suffocating Dylan, who can't move.

* * *

The scene shifts and he finds himself in a bathroom, florescent and white. There's no blood here, but there will be. The bathtub looms, a porcelain whale. His very own Moby Dick. She's there again floating on the surface, her eyes closed, her blue dress rippling out around her in waves. Just like before, her eyes pop open and his hands find her throat. His grip is unforgiving and ruthless. It isn't long before she's limp beneath his hands and he smiles that satisfied little smile, admiring his work.

* * *

It's like being under some kind of trance when he comes to stand behind her and grabs her frantic hands. He folds her arms into her chest and circles them with his own, pulling her to him in an effort to comfort her.

Her voice is heavy with grief when she asks what their options are.

He can only shake his head. "I have no idea." He says.


	2. Delusions

He writes another story. It's about a girl who sees delusions and falls deeper and deeper until she can no longer discern the real from the fake. Miss Watson asks him where he got the idea. Norman shakes his head and says he doesn't know. It's easier that way.

* * *

Everything is slipping away. His little brother and his mother and their collective sanity. He can't breathe in the house, so he goes down to the motel and sits in one of the chairs out front. One cigarette becomes two becomes three becomes the whole pack and he still doesn't feel any better. Invisible walls still seem to be closing in and no amount of closing his eyes and wishing can change it.

Norman's at school and Dylan wonders if anybody in that place could keep his little brother's murderous imagination at bay. A teacher or a student, anybody. He sincerely hopes so, even if he doesn't necessarily wish that his brother gets better. If he snaps, they could send him away someplace and then…

He stops himself. He doesn't want that to happen.

He wants to help Norman, that's all. If sending him away could do that, then Dylan's all for it. What could he have to gain from his brother in an institution anyway?

Norma emerges from the motel office wearing that god awful maid's uniform. He can't imagine why she's wearing it; there's no one in the fucking motel.

She shoves her hands in her pockets. "Dylan." God, he hates when she says his name like that. He's not five anymore. "What have I told you about the smoking?"

Dylan shrugs and gives a smirk through the smoke that billows from his last cigarette. With absolutely no hesitation, she snatches it from his mouth and throws it to the ground. He watches the orange ember burn, mesmerized. His mother crushes it beneath her heel and burning orange becomes charred black.

"You need to quit." She says. Dylan knows she's serious, but he laughs anyway.

"No can do. I need it, all right? I'm losing my goddamn mind."

Her gaze takes on a sympathetic quality. "I know, honey, I know, but chain smoking isn't the answer. You'll be knocking on death's door by your twenty third birthday."

"What the hell do you care anyway?"

"What do you mean 'what do I care'?"

He stands up to his full height. From here, she looks insignificant. Damaged and breakable. Power sings in his veins.

"You only give a shit about me when I risk my life for you and Norman. You only spare me a glance when I say I want to help Norman. What about me? Don't I fucking matter?"

She takes a step back. "Of course you do." She says in the calmest voice she can manage.

"Do I, really?"

Norma's voice takes on a tone of conviction. "Yes! You matter. You've always mattered. You're my son, my flesh and blood, nothing in my life matters more."

Dylan wishes he could believe her, but words like these hold no water with her unless she's saying them to Norman. He covers the space between them and ends up in her face.

She's so damn beautiful. He hates it.

Her warm palm presses against his cheek. "You matter." It comes out as a whisper and Dylan knows she means it. It's soft and it's sincere and it gathers inside him and fills him up.

He wants to ask her if she loves him, but fear holds his tongue.

All he knows is that she matters. There's a corpse and a bullet wound that can attest to that. Nothing matters like she does and he hates that, too. Her hand falls from his cheek and lands on his shoulder, where it rubs into the fabric of his leather jacket, calming the tense muscle beneath.

His eyes fall closed of their own accord. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Norman arrives at Will's shop in the late afternoon. He walks in wearing a smile like he always does and runs his hands along some of the animals he passes on the way to the back room. A German shepherd, a parakeet, a stray cat, all beautiful in their stillness.

He hopes to find his mentor in the back, but he finds Emma instead, typing away on her laptop with her oxygen tank tucked firmly between her knees.

"Hey, Emma." He says. He isn't feeling particularly chatty today. In fact, he hasn't felt chatty going on a few days now.

Either way, he's been roped in. "Hi, Norman." She sounds cheery as usual. He supposes that when you're certain that you aren't long for this life, being happy becomes easier. Why waste a day when your life is guaranteed to be shorter than those of the people around you. Her own body is her prison, her defective genes doubling as her tolling bells.

"So, did you go to the dance?" He doesn't know why he's asking. He's her only friend and he didn't ask her. It made him feel a little bad, but he'd been too busy waiting to be murdered. It's a good thing his mother turned out to be handy with a pistol.

"No." Emma replies. Her big doe eyes stare right through him. He hates when she does that.

He nods awkwardly in response. What a stupid thing to ask.

"I heard that Miss Watson really loved your short story. What was it about?"

The world seems to pause all around him. Should he really go in the deep reaches of his own mind with Emma? He feared what she would find.

"It was about a man whose insides were on fire. He went through the ordinary world constantly choking on black smoke. He wasn't dying and he wasn't living. He was just…suffering in silence." He gives her a sad little smile.

Emma's expression becomes worried. Great.

"Is that…is that how you feel, Norman?"

He can't lie to her. "Sometimes."

That damn dog statue thing still sits on Norman's bed. It's fucking eerie and Dylan finds himself wanting to chuck it out the nearest window. Why would anyone want the damn thing? His little brother deserved a psychiatrist's visit just for that without the inclusion of the all the other shit. With a shake of his head, he passes Norman's room, his boots thumping on the carpet. He stops in Norma's doorway and sees her at her vanity, combing her hair dressed in nothing but a light blue robe and her bra and panties.

His breath hitches as he leans into the doorframe. The five glasses of whiskey he'd had before he came up here were starting to haze his brain, making everything about her that much harder to resist.

He chuckles and even that throws him off balance.

Norma smiles at him through the vanity mirror. "What?"

Dylan chuckles again and then, he says,

"Don't tell me you didn't notice."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Notice what?"

He moves away from the doorframe, swaying slightly on his feet, nowhere near as drunk as he had wanted to be for this conversation.

"That cop. That cop I shot, the one you were seeing. You didn't notice a slight…resemblance between him and me?" He points to himself and puts on his best 'you can't fool me' smirk.

She recoils, her amused smile fading quick as it came. "Shut up."

"Oh, so you did notice? That's cool. Was it hard to tell the difference when you were in bed with him?"

"Dylan, stop it." She's on her feet now, spinning on her heel to fix him with her steely eyed gaze. All he can focus is the bare expanse of her stomach and the waistband of her panties.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "It was just a question, Norma. Relax. I didn't mean anything by it."

The sound of the front door opening and closing climbs up the stairs and reaches them followed by Norman calling for Norma.

"In here, honey!" She calls back, eyes still on Dylan. The tension is a solid wall that covers what seems like the miles between them. Dylan can't stand it even in his drunken, half-asleep state.

Norman's footsteps inch closer and for Dylan, they sound like bombs dropping. His head has already begun to pound. Then, Norman's filling in the rest of the doorframe beside his big brother. He seems to notice his mother's state of undress first and something in his eyes shifts.

Dylan shoots a look at Norma, who can only keep her weary gaze on Norman.

"Hi, honey. How was Emma's?"

"Fine." He says. He glances between them with a somewhat curious expression. "Is everything all right?"

Dylan laughs in that unsteady wasted way he did before. "Everything's fine, Norman…everything's fine."

* * *

That night, he dreams of something different. He sees them huddled at the kitchen table, sharing whispers and secretive smiles. Their words are muffled and stringing together, but Norman doesn't really care what they're saying. It's the closeness that bothers him. Their hands joined, their knees touching. The sight sets his blood on fire.

But, the dream gets worse from there. He ends up in his mother's bedroom doorway again, except that this time, Dylan and Norma are on each other's mouths, kissing with a passionate fury that makes Norman clench his fists. Dylan's hands sneak under her open robe, his arms encircling her waist and pulling her closer. Their mother lets out a desperate little whimper and the robe falls to the floor, pooling light blue at her feet. Norman blacks out and snaps awake in the darkness of his room, panting and sweating, overwhelmed with the images.

They don't want you anymore. It's a dark voice that whispers in his ear and sends chills straight down his spine.


	3. Live And Let Live

Norman doesn't see the blow coming. One second he's on his feet and the next, he's on his back with Richard standing above him, wild eyed and dangerous. The crowd gathers immediately, whispers and hoots and hollers filling in Norman's headspace. His jaw throbs, but somehow he finds himself on his feet.

Richard's mouth is moving but the words indiscernible. There's a fog gathering in around Norman; he knows this feeling well. It's a common occurrence, but it won't save him this time. Richard throws another punch and adds a few kicks to the ribs for good measure and then, Norman's losing consciousness, darkness pulling him in deep and refusing to let go.

* * *

He comes to in a hospital room. His ribs are wrapped so tight he can barely breathe or maybe that's just a side effect of his broken nose. He glances around the room and sees Norma sitting beside the bed, visibly drained. His heart aches for her; all he does is let her down.

"Mother, I…" His voice comes out thick.

Norma puts her hand up, palm out to silence him. "Don't." She fixes him with that hard gaze he's so used to. "Who was he?"

He sighs and his ribs scream with pain. "Bradley's boyfriend." He says.

His mother scoffs. "That's perfect." Is all she can manage, but he can feel her disappointment burrow deep in his bones.

* * *

Norma leaves him at the motel when she goes to see Norman at the hospital. Dylan doesn't know what to do with himself in the deafening quiet, so he snags the gun from her vanity drawer and goes out behind the house. Empty beer bottles sit in a line on the fence, waiting. He remembers doing this with Norma a few days ago and his stomach flips pleasantly. It was fun despite the reasons behind it and for a minute, all he can think about is Norma's fingers flexing along the barrel. That and the squeal of joy she let out every time she hit a bottle. But, Norma isn't here now and that fact makes him feel so…

He pulls the trigger and watches glass shatter and blow apart in every direction. The sound comforts him, so he keeps doing it until the emptiness stops feeling so bottomless.

* * *

He can't stop thinking about it. The night she slept in his bed, curled against him, her fingers playing along his side and her legs tangled with his. It felt like home; it felt like peace. He was so desperate to feel it again, so desperate to hold her and keep her safe from her demons. She was broken, he knew, so damaged by the world around her. He wanted to fix it, but he didn't know how. And, that's why he kept these feelings to himself. How could he tell her that he'd do anything for her when he wasn't even sure what to do or how to do it? But, now, sitting here in this silence with her hand in his and the desperation closing in all around him, he couldn't help believing that he didn't have much to lose.

"Mother."

Her deep blue eyes find his; her weariness weighs him down until he feels like he's drowning in the pain. Her pain, his pain, there was no difference.

He goes on anyway. "Mother, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've let you down so much lately. I'm sorry for hurting you; I don't want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you. I love you. I love you so much. I just…sometimes, I get stuck. And, when that happens, I get so angry. Angry enough to hurt you and I hate it. I'm sorry."

A single tear tracks its way down her cheek as she leans forward. She presses a kiss to his pulse point and pulls away to stare down at him. She squeezes his hand.

"I love you, too, Norman." Another kiss to his cheek and the corner of his mouth. He breathes in shakily, turning his head. The idea of kissing her, really kissing her, makes his heart speed up. But, she moves away from him instead and everything inside him clenches and twists. Maybe she did prefer Dylan, after all.

* * *

She leaves in the early evening, but promises she'll be back first thing in the morning. The hospital won't release until the day after tomorrow and already, Norman is losing his mind. It's not easy being alone with his thoughts; especially when he can still see Bradley being pushed underwater every time he closes his eyes.

The soft clicks of heels on the tile drive him away from the nightmare. He looks up from his wringing hands to see Miss Watson standing there, wearing an empathetic smile.

"Hi." She says.

He keeps wringing his hands. It's a nervous habit he can't seem to shake.

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

Slowly, she settles into the chair that his mother had occupied for hours. "I wanted to see how you were." She sighs deeply. "Norman. What happened?"

"I…uh, I slept with Bradley Martin. Her boyfriend didn't exactly appreciate it." He smiles wide at her, hoping that she'll leave the questions at that. It isn't that he doesn't want the company; it's just that he can't seem to think straight when she's around.

She shakes her head and for a second, she reminds him of his mother. That makes him want to scream.

"It was stupid, I know." He might as well admit to it. "I should've listened to my mother. She told me to stay away." Was it a good idea to bring her into this conversation? He didn't know.

He gets his answer when Miss Watson shifts in her seat. "Your mother. She's an interesting woman."

Norman laughs. "Yeah, she is." He's got her on his mind again and so, he's back to thinking about the way she feels in his arms. It fills him up.

"Does she…" Miss Watson hesitates and Norman sees something burning in her eyes. He can't fathom what it is. "Does she hurt you, Norman?"

The question throws him off his axis. He should be angry that she could think that, but somehow, he can't be mad at her. In fact, he's thankful that someone besides Dylan has taken the time to notice.

He should be raging at her, but that isn't what he does. He plays dumb.

"I don't know what you mean."

"It seems that way to me, Norman. It seems that she's hurting you emotionally. She likes to control you, doesn't she?"

He doesn't answer. She takes his silence as an affirmation.

"You know, we all make bad choices, Norman. It's what you learn from them that makes you who you are. It's part of growing up. We can't stay sheltered forever; it just isn't healthy."

_What she's doing to you, it isn't healthy. _Dylan's words from so long ago echo through his head.

To Miss Watson, he says,

"You're right, but there's nothing I can do."

* * *

Norma comes home to find her oldest son sitting on the stairs nursing a beer. His eyes shoot upward when she enters. They're blood shot and puffy. She wonders if he's high. It's a great thing to add alongside his clear drunkenness.

She wishes she could blow up on him but for once, she doesn't have the strength.

"How's Norman?" He asks.

"He's got a broken nose and four cracked ribs. He can barely sit up, so they're keeping him for a couple of days."

Dylan watches her as she settles beside him on the bottom step. Her fingers riding nervously along her pant leg draw his attention and so does the clenched line of her jaw. He swallows hard and finds it difficult to look elsewhere.

"I'm an asshole." He says. "I'm the one who told him to go for that girl."

Norma turns to him and he knows that she's been waiting to hear that. He hates that he felt the need to give her that satisfaction.

To his surprise, she doesn't appear smug. In fact, there's nothing but sympathy shining on her face. "It's all right, Dylan." Silence moves in for the slightest moment while Norma prepares herself for the words she'd never thought she'd say. "…It's all right to be angry with me. I never showed you what I should have." A sharp intake of breath. "I'm so sorry."

Dylan doesn't know how to respond to that. It's everything he's ever wanted to hear, but it stops him dead in his tracks. Does he forgive her? He isn't sure. He knows that he wants to. Maybe that's enough.

Still, the words don't want to come. He ducks his head, overwhelmed. It isn't until he feels her hand on his cheek that he looks up again.

"I'm sorry."

He surges forward into her arms, burying his face in her neck. A desperate little smile adorns her face as she wraps him tight in her embrace and whispers comforting words against the crown of his head. She rocks him back and forth in an effort to soothe him. It works in a way she never knew it could.

For Dylan, it feels like home. The home that was always just out of his reach. The home that was finally welcoming him. The home that was finally his.


	4. Obsessions

He has Juno for two months before she starts to make him feel uneasy. Her big, lifeless eyes stared right at him, through him and ripped his resolve to shreds. She's dead because of him and that's all he can think about. It was the guilt that drove him to preserve her like this. This dog had trusted him and he'd betrayed it, so he chose to keep her with him in any way he could. But, it was getting to him now. He's seen her alive. He remembers the way she hobbled to him, the sound of her bark, and the warmth of her fur. It was nothing like this. The passivity, the nothingness, the emptiness; it's all so unnerving he can hardly stand it. So, he shoves her under the bed and keeps her there all the while forcing himself to forget she ever existed.

It works.

* * *

She meets him again. The same diner, the same booth, the circumstances different but just as dire. He doesn't know what to make of this young girl who has her hooks in his little brother. This young girl who's close to getting her hooks in him. He isn't really sure why, but something about her strikes a chord in him and makes him ache. Is this how Norman felt?

"So, why did you want to see me?" Her tone is even, almost uncaring.

"My little brother was in the hospital last week." He replies. She already knew that, but it's always worth reiterating. He couldn't remind himself enough around this fucking girl.

"I know…is he all right?" Something like sadness deepens her tone.

"He's good. He had a busted nose and a few cracked ribs. Had to be in the hospital for a couple days."

Bradley nods at him and he notices for the first time that she looks worse for wear. There are gigantic bags under her eyes and the blue in them has dulled considerably.

"Look, Dylan, I'm really sorry that I brought him into this. I didn't mean for it to turn out this way. "

He thinks about Norman's dream. This girl had no idea what kind of fire she'd been playing with; then again, neither had Dylan when he'd told Norman to be with her.

"Why did you do it?" He asks. "Why did you lead him on like that?"

"I don't know. I liked him. He really helped me after everything with my dad. I just…I just got caught in the moment. Haven't you ever got caught in a moment?"

The sickening sound of a body caving in beneath his tires echoes in his head.

"Yes." It haunts him every moment of every day. How he could do that to another human being and feel nothing but satisfaction. It was frightening on the best days and disgusting on the worst.

"I'm sorry, okay? I really am."

He exhales. "I know." He stares at her, gathering in her features. The shape of her mouth, the wideness of her eyes, the blonde hair, the long elegant fingers. He takes it all in and can only think of Norma. That unsettles him. Is that what Norman saw in this girl? A younger, saner version of their mother? For a moment, Dylan loses his breath. Is that why he's so attracted to this girl?

He shakes his head, but the image of Norma stays. Dylan devours it and projects it outward onto Bradley. His heart starts racing.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

Emma helps Norma clean out the parlor. Files upon files shuffled through and organized, the unneeded thrown out, the needed stored in a separate box in the corner. The room stands basically empty now and Norma frets in the way only Norma can. It's endearing to Emma, who never had a real mother to fret over furniture and fashion with. They head to the store and buy the cheapest, simplest furnishings they can find which end up being two high backed chairs and a coffee table.

It's afterwards, when they're sitting together in the small diner at the edge of town, that Emma finds herself lost in the reeling of her own mind. It's really the silence that does her in and she has to clutch onto the handle of her oxygen tank that rests beside her legs under the table. Her life line forever and for always.

"Mrs. Bates." She tries to stay neutral, hopes beyond hope that her anxiety doesn't show.

Norma glances up from the menu to scoff at the younger girl. "Emma, call me Norma. Please."

"Okay….Norma…" Emma doesn't know how to say any of this but she knows she needs it out there for Norman's sake. "Have you read Norman's short story?" The question seemed simple enough. It was easy to build on and deepen when necessary.

"What short story?" Confusion clouds Norma's eyes.

"The one he wrote in Language Arts. Miss Watson really enjoyed it. Norman told me she wanted to see if she could get it published. He didn't tell you?"

Norma inhales sharply. Emma resists the urge to gulp. "No, he didn't tell me."

She stays silent for a minute while the gears go round and round in her head. Miss Watson wasn't going to stand down and that was just freaking perfect.

"Miss Watson, huh? She and Norman seem to really get along."

"Yeah, they do. Norman's her favorite student."

Hot, sticky rage gathers in the back of Norma's throat. She can hardly hold it in behind the façade of a terse smile. "That's fantastic. It's great that he's doing so well. You've read his story. Tell me about it."

* * *

He drives her to the edge of town and fucks her in the back of the truck. He didn't feel very good about it, but he couldn't help himself. The way she felt when she pulled him in and held him there, her legs around him, her fingers in his hair was far too much to resist. Yet, he only starts to fall to pieces when he buries his face in her neck and closes his eyes. That's when the image of Norma comes back and everything inside him is set aflame. He drives his hips harder, faster, listening to Bradley's mewls of pleasure, but only seeing Norma. Her eyes, her face, the sound of her voice saying the words 'You matter' and he's gone, letting go inside the girl beneath him, muttering his own mother's name.

It doesn't terrify him the way he thinks it should.


	5. Here And Gone

Norman hears her before he sees her. Huffing and puffing, her footsteps heavy, the tension deafening. It only takes a moment for her to appear in his doorway, her blue eyes scrutinizing him like she's never seen him before. His heart trips over itself in fear even while he scoots to the edge of the bed and lets his feet touch the floor. She doesn't sit beside him like he expects; instead, she kneels before him.

Her hands frame his face. They're so warm he feels like they could burn him alive. That feeling coupled with her fiery eyes makes him feel like the man in his story. The black smoke has come to choke the life out of him.

His mother seems hesitant; far more hesitant than he's ever seen her. She's always been so capable. He wonders what's changed. He wonders if it has something to do with him.

That thought makes him wish that the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

"Norman." Her soft voice lightens the load on his chest, but only barely. "Norman, is something wrong?"

His gaze flits to her lips. There was something wrong, all right. What was wrong was how desperately he wanted her. Truly, honestly wanted her.

He shakes his head, forcing the treacherous thoughts away. In their place, that image of Dylan and Norma locked in an impassioned embrace comes back to haunt him. He swallows the heartbreak. It was just a dream, after all.

"There's nothing wrong, Mother."

"Norman, you can talk to me. If there's something wrong, you can tell me. We can work it out together."

Her thumbs swipe along his cheekbones and he ducks his head. She jerks his head back up and forces him to stay with her. Her translucent eyes beg, but Norman doesn't know what she wants him to say. There's nothing he can say because all of it is downright insane.

She closes her eyes and gnaws on her bottom lip. Slowly, she leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead. Then, his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth and that feeling from the hospital rushes back to the surface, suffocating him with its intensity. When she starts to pull away, he grabs her and digs his fingers into the back of her neck. On the tail end of a short intake of breath, he kisses her, crushing his mouth to hers like she's his last link to oxygen. In a way, she just might be. She's tense and her hands have fallen from his face and landed on his knees; her grip is nervous and tight. He can feel her trying to resist him, trying to pull back, but he rides his tongue along her bottom lip and she opens up for him despite herself. She whimpers as she presses herself closer, forcing his knees apart so she ends up flush against him. Her hands slide up to his thighs where her fingertips dig in to the fabric of his boxers and imprint the skin beneath.

Norman doesn't know what's happening, but it feels so damn good he doesn't care.

That is, he doesn't care until she pulls away from him and he has to observe her frenzied eyes and swollen lips. This really shouldn't have been happening.

Regardless, he buries his face in her neck and takes the time to catch his breath. He can feel her hands running down his back, her lips resting against his racing pulse point, the hotness of her labored breath shooting need straight down the front of his body.

He's hard and it doesn't take her long to notice. She moves away from him to look down and he doesn't know what to feel. Should he be ashamed?

He doesn't have the time to truly decide how to react because she's suddenly on her feet, smiling down at him in that gentle way he loves. His body misses the contact, though, and all he wants to do is tug her back to him.

"We…can't." she says simply and disappointment overwhelms him.

He knows she's right. This was wasn't okay in the slightest. But, if that were true, he has to wonder why it'd felt so natural in the moment.

"I understand, Mother."

She nods at his response, visibly thankful he's decided not to push or shove. She points in the direction of his…affliction. "You, uh, you might want to deal with that."

* * *

It doesn't become awkward after that. Quite the opposite, actually. The air between them takes on a charged quality, thickened by the near fulfillment of a forbidden desire. It leaves Norman aching and he can barely keep himself from touching her. The three of them sit at the breakfast the next morning, Dylan and Norma on either side with Norman between them. Dylan and Norma are going on about something Norman doesn't care about aside from the smile she throws his older brother's way. Heat gathers in his blood. . He wants to kiss her in this second, wants to discourage Dylan for good, but that dream he had of the two of them replays in his head and he can't move. He wonders if it's ever happened, if she's ever put her hands on Dylan the way she put her hands on him last night.

He doesn't know, but he dreads the answer his imagination might give him.

* * *

He does his best to avoid Bradley at school, but he catches glimpses of her anyway. It hurts and it burns and the voice in his head that he can't avoid whispers sweet nothings. It's nearly the end of the day when she comes to him. He's standing at his locker and turns to see her there. Her green eyes stop him cold, just like they did the first day he met her. Something thick and black gathers in the back of his throat. The smoke coming to choke the life out of him.

She fingers the bright pink scarf around her neck and avoids meeting his gaze.

"Norman, I wanted to say I'm sorry."

He doesn't know how to respond. His heart pounds incessantly against his rib cage, begging for release. This girl destroyed him, but he can't hate her. He could never hate her and he wasn't even sure why.

"Okay." His voice cracks.

"I never meant for it to end up like this. I should've…"

"Don't. I get it. It's fine. I'm over it." The smile that spreads across his face doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Honest."

He edges past her, their hands brushing just slightly, his heart giving another desperate lurch.

He's halfway home before the feeling leaves him.

* * *

Dylan's fast asleep in the tent dreaming of blackness when the smell of smoke wakes him up. He shoots up in the cot and sees nothing but a thick white cloud gathering in all around him. With his hand over his nose and his mouth, he walks through it and finds himself face to face with a wall of orange fire. At least an acre of the pot field is burning and Dylan feels a ball of cold dread settle in his stomach.

"Shit."


	6. Motherly Love

"Norman."

The creaking of the stairs keeps him company on the short journey to her bedroom. Her voice carries to him from behind the door, beckoning him like a siren's song.

His hand finds the doorknob. It takes his brain a minute to catch on.

"Norman." It's closer now, nearly a whisper in his ear.

A shiver passes through him. The door falls open by itself and she immediately draws all his attention, leaning back on the bed using her elbows to hold herself up. She spreads her legs as he steps forward. He swallows hard, finding himself utterly mesmerized by bright blue eyes that seem to glow even in the near darkness.

Seduction bleeds from the smile on her face. Heat gathers in Norman's belly while Norma's legs cling to his hips and tug him closer. She leans back further so he can settle over her, his palms pressing into the mattress at either side of her head.

He hovers above her, his mouth mere centimeters from hers, her eyes daring him to make the first move. Naturally, he caves. He presses himself impossibly close as he kisses her deep, the simmer of lust inside being brought to a steady blaze.

Norma drapes her arms over his back and coherent thought abandons him. She yanks her lips away from him, leaving him feeling cold. He goes for her mouth again and is promptly denied. But, an endearing smile paints itself onto her face. Norman holds her gaze, though frustration pricks incessantly at his skin.

"Don't ever leave me, Norman."

A yellow haze forms at the edges of his vision and inches closer until everything, including Norma is casted in golden light. She appears ethereal, the immaculate embodiment of his every desire.

He's trapped here, he knows. He could never deny what she's done to him and he could never run from it.

"Never." They fall back into an open mouthed kiss while the light engulfs them. Everything fades away and he's left alone in the darkness of his bedroom covered in a cold sweat that punctuates his quiet desperation.

* * *

Dylan can't sleep anymore. Two whole days have passed since the fire in the pot field and he's been told not to return to work until notified. It was the fear of what Gill had to say that kept him restless.

He trudges into the kitchen at midnight and has three beers before he even knows what's happening. He heaves himself onto the counter, his legs dangling in a childlike fashion, his toes inches from the floor. His thumb taps frantically at the mouth of the latest beer bottle and he takes a slight comfort in the strange melody the action creates.

"Dylan."

His head shoots up and he's face to face with his mother.

She's in the hall, her hands secure in the pockets of a sheer white robe, her back erect, her blonde hair sticking out in every direction, her blue eyes bleary and still impossibly distracting.

He gives her a grin. "Hey."

Her footsteps are hesitant and he isn't sure why.

"You all right?" She asks as she comes to stand to between his legs.

Her hands fall to his knees, her thumbs rubbing circles into his jeans. It's oddly soothing even while he wonders when she became so comfortable touching him considering there was a time when she could barely stand to look at him. Of course, there was also a time when he didn't say her name during sex with other women.

Things had certainly changed. Whether it was for the better or for the worse was yet to be determined.

"I'm fine. Just a little restless." He hopes he sounds confident in his answer; he isn't in the mood for an interrogation.

Norma nods, but continues to stare at him like she's trying to pick him apart. He doesn't know what she's looking for, though he wishes she will find it.

What he also doesn't know rests in the rapid fire images bombarding Norma's mind. She's caught in a vicious déjà vu standing in the same position she'd been in with her younger son just two nights ago: The exact position that turned into a heated, prolonged make out session.

She shakes her head in an effort to force the memories away and breaks apart from Dylan. The fridge light that shines on her face when she goes for a beer blows her cover.

"What about you?" Dylan's voice seems to creep up on her from a far distance. "Are you okay?"

She thinks twice about the beer. She hasn't had a drop of alcohol since high school and starting again didn't sound like a great idea. The fridge seals closed under the touch of her fingers as she turns to face Dylan once more.

"I'm fine." Her fingertips ghost over his thigh. "Come sit with me."

It's amazing how such a simple request lights Dylan up. She watches barely concealed joy mar his every movement until he's settled into the seat beside her at the kitchen table.

The smile on her face is full of a sincerity Dylan's never received from her. To be fair, it was nothing like the smiles she reserved for Norman, but maybe this one was reserved for him.

That thought induces a feeling he can't quite identify.

Her eyes lose his for the slightest second. When she looks back up at him, her trepidation covers the distance between them and riles up his nerves.

"What is it?"

The hesitance carries on. An indiscernible amount of deliberation passes before Norma says,

"I'm so grateful."

She really wasn't used to this. Spilling her guts to anyone besides Norman was always incredibly strange especially when that anyone happened to be Dylan.

To strengthen herself, she reaches across the expanse that divides them and pulls one of his hands toward her. She strokes along his fingers in a slow, circular motion. It soothes her to the point of surrender.

"I mean…I'm grateful for what you've done."

The words make his insides tremble. It's so ordinary and so vague, but to him, it's worth more than any planned, syrupy speech she could easily fake. Yet, he can still sense that she isn't done, so he stays silent, the anticipation killing him.

For so long, Norma had viewed him as the embodiment of her personal failures. Something she could avoid, so she never had to look it in the eye and face it. Things were different now. Now, she was proud to say that he was her son and that she was grateful for him; grateful that he was strong and capable; grateful that he belonged to her; grateful that his own resentment of her was visibly eroding.

"I…" She squeezes his hand. He's solid and he's present and if she doesn't tell him what she aches to, he would be left wondering forever. She didn't want to hurt him anymore by leaving to drown in his assumed inferiority.

"…I love you, Dylan. I don't want you to ever have to question it. You're my son and I love you."

The world stops dead. Everything is silent and still except for Norma's frantic caress on his hand. He couldn't find his bearings let alone begin to respond. Shock was shooting up his spine and scratching at the back of his eyes.

`Warmth gathers in his chest and wraps itself around the icy compartment in his heart where she'd always resided in a less than favorable light.

He has to shift his gaze away from her because her eyes were hell bent on tearing him to shreds.

The severance doesn't last long. Immediately, Norma's other hand connects with his jawline and forces him back.

Tears dance along the rims of her eyes and all he wants is for them to fall and give him permanent proof that this conversation was actually happening.

The problem was, he didn't think he could give her the response her expression begged for. He cared about her, he really did, but love? What did love even feel like? Was it that pit in his stomach that formed when he watched her and Norman interact? Was it that giddiness that made his heart trip over itself when she offered words like these? He wasn't well versed in love; all he'd ever known of it he saw in her eyes when she fixated on Norman.

Yet, that look in her eyes was being directed at him now and he felt powerless locked in its crosshairs. Maybe love was the ability she had to make him feel helpless inside his own body. Or maybe it was the predecessor to the rage that overtook him every time he thought of Sam Bates and Keith Summers and Zach Shelby, the heartless bastards who'd wreaked irreparable havoc on his mother's psyche.

His mother, the woman he couldn't help but feel illogically attached to; the woman he loved more than he'd ever loved anyone else in the world.

Breath leaves him all at once. He loved her; he truly, honestly did.

A smile he reserved just for her tilts the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, too, Mom."

* * *

He's forced to serve detention after his altercation with Richard. Miss Watson pulls some strings with the principal and Norman ends up in her classroom at the end of the day, entranced by her form standing before the window, silhouetted by the dreariness beyond it. The red dress that halts at her knees sticks out the brightest and Norman has to close his eyes to avoid being put under its spell.

His mind wanders back to Norma. Her hands, her eyes, her lips, the feel of her body molded tight to his. He wanted to feel it again, only next time he wanted to…

"Norman?"

His eyes snap back open. Miss Watson is only a short distance away now and everything about her is just that much more enticing.

"Hi." He laughs in that nervous way he always seems to. His eyes flit around the room. "So, uh, what do you want me to do?"

"You know, I thought we could finish editing that short story. Did you bring your laptop?"

"Yeah."

* * *

This time, he meets her at her place. She's sitting on her blue sheeted bed in the middle of her blue room and he stands mesmerized just like he did the first time. He takes two steps and lands on her mouth. Their tongues tangle while her blunt nails bite down on the skin at the back of his neck. He hisses and pushes her backwards onto the bed, inhabiting the space between her legs and swallowing her desperate little whimpers.

It's Bradley beneath him, but Norma is the only thing behind his eyes.

They separate and Dylan rides his lips down her neck, dropping kisses like raindrops onto heated skin. She throws her head back and he bites down hard on the tendon that protrudes at the movement.

He pulls back to stare down at her, noting the smeared lip gloss and the green eyes that glow in the subdued light. Her blonde hair is spread across the pillows, enticing his touch. He runs his fingers through it in a daze, barely registering the smirk that splits her lips.

Norma's voice invades his head space, taking him over by latching itself onto the rounded edges that compose his skull.

'I love you, Dylan.'

"I love you." He crashes back into the sweetness of her mouth, managing to completely miss the fire that catches in her eyes.

* * *

Her ruby red lips never cease to draw his attention. They carry a shine that makes him want to know what they taste like. Would they still shine after he kissed the life out of her? How arousing would the sight of that ruby red lipstick smeared along the corners of her mouth be? What noises would she make under his hands? Would they be anything like his mother's?

His heart picks up to a full blown gallop. God, how he ached to find out.

"Norman?"

The sound of her voice shatters the lustful haze coloring his imagination.

"Yeah?" He realizes that he'd been staring while she'd been going on about his story and he shifts his eyes away in embarrassment.

She chuckles. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm okay." He fixates on her mouth again. Then, he meets her eyes.

She seems to do the same with him but maybe that's just Norman imagining things again. She couldn't possibly want him like that, could she?

He looks down at their hands resting beside each other on the desk. Their fingers brush slightly as he moves his to rest on top of hers. He strokes his thumb over the back of her hand while their eyes speak a thousand words.

With her other hand, she cups his cheek." Norman."

Desire latches itself onto his spine. It unfurls inside him like a disease, effectively stealing the air from his lungs.

Her crimson stained lips draw his attention again. He possesses them without hesitation.

* * *

Gill calls him while he's still at Bradley's. Serenity had just begun to creep up on him while he was holding her close and tracing endless patterns on her still damp skin. That's when the phone rang and he had to stretch past the edge of the bed to retrieve it from the back pocket of his jeans.

A part of him hoped it would be Norma, which was why his stomach dropped to his knees when he saw who it actually was.

"Hey, Gill."

"Get the fuck over here."

* * *

Her therapist teaches her countless ways to clear her mind and find momentary peace. She attempts them all and remains plagued by things far beyond her control, her newly discovered sexual desire for Norman chief among them. Being with him like that would not help him, that much she was absolutely sure of, but that wasn't going to cool the longing that burned her up inside.

Norman loved her and he would always love her and he would never hurt her the way so many others had. There was no one she trusted or needed more than him and that was enough to make her want to throw caution to the wind. What could be so wrong about consummating a loving, committed relationship? As long as it was kept a secret, it would bring no harm.

Well, perhaps that wasn't true. Norman himself could easily become a casualty.


	7. Sinister Kid

Dylan won't be home tonight and Norma thinks it might be kismet. The fact that this plan of hers coincided with the first night in weeks Dylan won't be home. It makes her feel slightly less…gross, but not at all less nervous. Even so, its five o'clock in the afternoon, giving her a few hours left in which to prepare herself. Norman's at Emma's and he won't be home for a while yet. With a smile, Norma shuffles around her bedroom, stopping at the wardrobe to pick out a dress. She chooses her favorite little black number, the one that clings to every curve and draws eyes in her direction every time she wears it. Come to think of it, it's drawn Norman's eyes once or twice, too. His looks had always made her feel the most complicated mix of indiscernible emotions that were finally being sorted through.

She slips the dress over her head and watches it billow out over her knees, ending just short of her calves. She sits at her vanity. Every lipstick she owns seems to call her name, but she settles on a bright pink color that doesn't draw too much attention. It satisfies her, so she rises from the bench. Her fingers grip tightly at the hem of the dress and she feels like her knees might fail her. Nerves, just nerves. It happens all the time, these ticks. She's used to them, but tonight, they're making her more anxious than usual. A glass of wine might help, she decides, so she goes down to the kitchen and pours one that steadily becomes two and three.

The good news is, it certainly does help. Even to the point where she gathers up the courage to text Norman a cute little message that she hopes will make him want to dash home to her. She needed him and the wait was starting to get unbearable.

* * *

He doesn't know how he gets home. In fact, he doesn't recall ever leaving detention. One second, he was in Ms. Watson's classroom and the next, he was in the middle of walking home while his cell phone chimed in his pocket. There's a text message from his mother sent mere minutes before that read,

I miss you. Can't stop thinking about you. Meet me in the Motel Office. I have a surprise. :)

It sends a rush through him; the kind of rush that makes everything blur and stick together. What could it mean? So many scenarios raced around in his head, every one of them sickly sweet. He picks up his pace without realizing it and suddenly, he's in the Bates Motel parking lot, observing the office from a distance. The shades are drawn. Anticipation slithers up the ridges of his spine and blocks up his wind pipe. His lungs siege as he turns the door knob. His eyes find her pressing back against the side of the desk, wearing a sinful black dress that extenuates every line. He devours her in silence, unable to move or speak or think.

"Hi." Her grin is demure and endlessly endearing. Her nervousness has returned with the sight of Norman's speechlessness. There's excitement somewhere, too.

"Mother…" He's wide eyed. She pushes herself away from the desk and comes toward him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Norman." Her fingers tease the skin of his collarbone through the material of his shirt. "I love you." She kisses his pulse point, feels it throb a little harder at the action. Her kisses continue, trailing down his jaw only to stop abruptly at the corner of his mouth. His heart stops. He pushes his palm into her ribs. She's trembling, so he wraps his arms around her waist to calm her. He drops a kiss to her hair as she rests her forehead against his cheek.

"It's okay. I love you, too."

A puff of breath hits him in the throat. "Norman." It's softer this time, weaker in a way.

It makes his chest tighten. She backs away from him to stare into his eyes.

Their mouths touch for the slightest second. Then, again and again and again until the shortness turns into prolonged sweetness. He doesn't force her or quicken his pace the way he wants to. He lets her control the speed of it because he couldn't bear to have her abandon him now. To his surprise, she deepens the kiss almost immediately, her tongue gliding across his bottom lip. Norman lets her in, of course, and his grip on her tightens beyond his control.

His mother lets out a whimper that shreds his soul. She tugs him with her back toward the edge of the desk. The back of her legs collide first followed by Norman's right hand grappling for purchase on its surface when he nearly falls into her.

She rights him with a gentle touch and proceeds to break the kiss. Her too warm hands cup his face; her fingertips paint a picture of trepidation on his skin.

"Promise me…" Silence fills in every empty space. Norma allows herself a deep, calming breath. The butterflies won't desist despite the fact that this is Norman and Norman would never…could never…

"Promise me it'll be different with you."

He smiles. What she was offering was worth more than he could verbally express. She was putting her faith in his love, letting him know that she wanted him, but only if he could prove himself to be the right choice. If he could promise that he would treat her better than anyone else ever had or could, if he could promise that he wouldn't betray her the way so many others had, if he could promise not to exploit the weakness she was showing.

"I promise."

She leaves a ghost of a kiss on his mouth and extracts herself entirely. He watches her walk away, confused. That is, he's confused until he realizes that she's retrieving a room key from its place on the wall hanger. Seduction imprints itself on her as she practically sashays back to him, taking him by the hand and leading him into Cabin One's sinful embrace.

* * *

Dylan finds himself at the pier when the sun is just beginning to set. A shade of yellow and orange streak across the sky, but Dylan has no eyes for the beauty. He can only fret, shifting from to foot to foot, waiting for someone to show up and tell him what the fuck's going on.

It takes exactly five minutes for one of Gill's henchman to show, walking tall with his hands shoved in his pockets. He sports a leather jacket and a sneer that Dylan wants to smack right off his face.

"Massett." He says.

"Yeah?" His patience always seems to wear thin at a breakneck speed. It's something he picked up from his mother.

"Come with me."

The henchman guides him through the nearly abandoned boatyard. Twists and turns and carcasses of underused machines dotting the pathways. They stop when they come to a rusted boathouse that reeks of gasoline and sweat.

Dylan doesn't know what to expect when the henchman yanks open the door, but it sure isn't what he ends up seeing.

Remo's tied to a chair in the center of the room, bloodied, beaten, maybe half-dead. His head lolls loosely on his shoulders and all Dylan can feel is ice cold dread knotting in his stomach. Gill appears from one of the back rooms, wielding a gas can like a weapon.

"Dylan, welcome to your initiation. This piece of shit burned down an acre worth of our business and you are going to fix it. This…" He raises the gas can in Dylan's direction. "is the great equalizer."

He hands it over. Dylan's slow in taking it; the power it represents frightens him as much the opportunities excite him.

"This is how you prove your loyalty."

Remo doesn't even know what planet he's on and he's hours from death anyway. There's a baseball bat laying next to the chair, stained with blood. Dylan focuses on it, thinks himself glad that he didn't get that job. This job, the one he has been assigned, is mercy. Remo's mercy. It's not murder; it's peace.

That's all Dylan's thinking when he pours the gasoline and lights the match.

* * *

It's still dark outside when Norman disentangles himself from her and decides to take a shower. He uses the motel soap and the motel shampoo, thankful his mother had stocked up. The images from their excursion into the unknown don't leave him. Water rivulets tickle his skin, but he imagines them as Norma's kisses. Arousal wells up inside him and effectively distracts him from the outside world. That's why it's so easy for her to sneak up on him. He doesn't even realize she's snuck into the bathroom until she's behind him in the shower, her hands smoothing over his ribs.

His breath catches as he turns in her embrace.

"Hi." His voice is silk soft and deepened by a desire he can barely contain.

"Hi." She murmurs back.

He leans down to kiss her, but she denies him. It's playful, the way she side steps him and situates herself under the showerhead, reaching for the soap nonchalantly like her own son isn't in there with her.

It causes a strange cocktail of emotions within Norman, many of them in the same family with arousal and indignation.

He thinks about grabbing her, but then he remembers the promise he made. He would let her call the shots; her comfort was all that mattered.

* * *

The call comes at 3 pm the next day. It's a frenzied neighbor on the other end who didn't see Beth Watson leave her house to attend school that morning. Her red sedan still sat in the drive way and the neighbor went on for minutes about how that was not like Beth at all. Romero thinks nothing of the call at first and then, the neighbor gets to the good part. The door was left cracked and what was found in the house was gruesome. Beth Watson had been murdered in her own home with one of her own kitchen knives, her throat slashed, her body left lying on the bedroom floor, the knife abandoned in the hall that led back to the front door.

Romero hangs up in a daze. He was getting too old for this shit.


	8. The Wicked Lies We Tell

Dylan dresses in one of his nicer shirts and dark blue pair of jeans. He messes with his hair in mirror shifting flyaway pieces around and mussing his fingers through it. He practically bounds down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Norma's going about preparing dinner.

"Hey." She smiles wide at him, her eyes flitting over his appearance. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I, uh, I have a date." His fingers slide over the opposite wrist. It's something he does around her. She always sends his nerves into overdrive.

"Really?" She nods, seemingly elated.

"What about you?" He takes a second to observe her. A periwinkle blue sun dress, 3 inch black heels and bright pink lipstick. His entire body reacts to it on impact; he can hardly think straight.

"Do you have a date?"

"No. No. Just dinner with Norman." Norma leaves out the part about Norman being her secret lover. Apparently, that little fact would make this evening qualify as a date.

She doesn't catch Dylan's disgust. It comes and goes like a shadow.

"So, who are you seeing?"

He thinks about not telling her. It would probably be the better thing, but all can he think about are her reactions to Norman getting with girls. He wants to be on the tail end of that jealousy, that fear of loss.

"Bradley Martin."

Oddly, Norma's expression doesn't change. The news doesn't seem to register; it just hangs in the air, waiting to be breathed in and spit back out.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Norman said he was over her. And besides, he doesn't have to know."

She lowers her eyes. "She's seventeen, Dylan."

"Eighteen, actually. Look, Norma, we're just hanging out, having fun. It doesn't mean anything."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He covers the space between them in two strides. "It was supposed to."

His hands grip her shoulders. To his own dismay, he squeezes down gently and watches her visibly calm. At this distance, it's her perfume that does him in. The scent of Lilac and lavender clinging to her pale skin and sealing his fate.

"I have to go."

Her eyes hit the floor again. It hurts him for some reason but he sucks it up and leaves the house, swallowing a massive ball of emotions that seem to weigh down on his windpipe.

* * *

Norman arrives just ten minutes after Dylan leaves. He's dragging his feet, walking like he's lagging a ball and chain behind him. The word was all over school; Ms. Watson had been murdered in her own home nearly twenty four hours ago. He'd been the last person to see her alive, but only he knew that for the time being. He didn't know what to feel; there was a pit of sadness somewhere inside, but other than that, he felt nothing different. Now, when he found his mother in the kitchen, he felt too many things to probably name.

"Hi, honey." She greets him with the same elation she always does, but something's different.

He kisses her softly and settles into the chair at the head of the table.

"Is everything all right?"

She's behind him, buzzing around the stove like a bee. "Everything's fine, Norman."

She hates herself for it, but she can't stop thinking about Dylan and that girl. Sick, rudimentary imaginings run behind her eyes, torturing her.

That girl. She couldn't stand that goddamn girl.

* * *

Romero loathes this house. He's been here so often in the last few months it's almost become a second home. Being here is like walking through a fucking funeral procession and there's plenty of faded blood on the stairs that just adds to the atmosphere.  
He rings the doorbell in exasperation. When were these people going to stop being his problem?  
Norma opens the door and the look of surprise almost makes him laugh. Almost.

"Sheriff, what can I do for you?"

"Mrs. Bates. Is Norman home? I need to ask him a couple of questions."

"About what exactly?"

"Beth Watson, a Language Arts teacher at the high school, was murdered yesterday. According to my information, your son was the last person to see her alive."

She steps to the side, though her hand still clings to the edge of the door. It falls limply after a moment, letting him by and into the belly of the unassuming beast.

* * *

This was all too familiar. Romero, sitting the LA-Z Boy while Norman and Norma sat on the couch on the other side of the coffee table, Norma grasping onto to her son like she was drowning and he was the last supply of oxygen.

"Norman, according to Principal Hodges, you were serving detention with Ms. Watson yesterday afternoon. Is that correct?"

Norman throws a quick glance to his mother that he hopes is apologetic. "Yes."

Like he figured, her hand tightens on his forearm.

"Did she seem afraid, maybe preoccupied?"

He stays silent, contemplating over a black space in his memory. "No, not really."

"Did she mention a name or something that could clue us in on who might've been following her?"

"Yeah. Earlier that day, just before the first bell rang, I saw her talking on the phone with someone named Eric. It was pretty heated."

Romero flips through the notebook in his lap and scribbles something down. "All right." He stands, his eagerness to leave shining through his façade of polite courtesy. "That should do it for now. I'll let you if I need anything else."

Norma joins him on the short walk to the exit. "Good night, Sheriff." He can hear the tremble in her voice, but he keeps that to himself.

"Good night, Mrs. Bates."

* * *

He goes about mentally preparing himself for the entirety of the two minutes Norma's occupied with the Sheriff. He thinks about the appropriate thing to say when she turns back around with that irate fire in her eyes.

"Norman." Austere, demanding, exactly the way he feared she would sound. She stomps her way back to him, her nostrils flaring, and her anger unhinged.

"You weren't at Emma's?"

Norman looks away, his fingers turning his watch round and round on his wrist.

"No. I got sent to detention because of the fight with Richard."

"You were alone with that woman?"

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, knowing that this was coming like he knew the sun would come up in a few hours.

"Yes, Mother."

"What happened?"

Her son is on his feet in an instant, irritation stamping itself on him as he strides past her.

"Nothing happened. I served detention and I came home."

She's close, keeping pace with him despite his obvious desire to end this conversation. He stops at the bottom of the stairs. All he can hear is her breathing and all he can feel is her heat.

He spins on his heel; he wants to be honest. This new relationship wouldn't last otherwise.

"I don't know what happened. One second I was there and the next thing I knew I was walking home. That's the truth, okay?"

Her wide eyes convey her surprise. "You don't know?"

"I don't know…Good night, Mother."

* * *

She stays there for a while, just existing. Norma Bates was made up of jagged pieces that ripped her skin and left open wounds that refused to heal. She knows how broken she is; she's all too aware of how deep her own damage goes. Norman was supposed to be the dam that held all that back, but he was cracking, too, the flaws in his mental foundation becoming far too apparent for Norma's comfort. They were fragile pieces to an incomplete puzzle and Norma didn't know how to keep them in orbit.

The front door opens behind her and Dylan's there, his boot falls giving him away.

He isn't even over the threshold when she loses it, turning to him on the tail end of an exasperated growl.

"What are you doing with that girl?" It's venomous, dripping with a hatred that tears at her heart.

Dylan stands there, bewildered, the door falling closed, the sound doing nothing to alleviate the heavy atmosphere.

"I'm not doing anything."

She advances on him like a predator. "Yes, you are. You're screwing her, aren't you?!"

"That's none of your damn business." He slides past her toward the kitchen.

Norma goes on. "It's my business. Answer the question."

Their gazes stay locked in a game of daring. Her eyes bore right through him, severing his sinews and leaving him aching.

He glances away. "Okay, yes, we're having sex."

"Why? She's only going to hurt you, Dylan." She's too close now; there are only centimeters between them.

"I don't know. She just…makes everything easier." Her hands rest on his shoulders. He grabs them, pulling them up and away gently. Then, he drops them and moves to walk away again.

"Don't. Don't walk away, please. Talk to me."

He stays with his back to her, his head bowed, his breathing uneven. It's a good minute before he twists back around. His countenance is pained and defeated. Norma can hardly stand it. Yet, she makes no move to rid him of it; she feels powerless lost in this dance with him. He steps closer and closer until she has to back away. Her back hits the fridge and he's practically flush against her, the two of them breathing the same air.

This is something new. The rapid heartbeat beneath her fingertips, the smoky blue eyes staring a hole right through her, the warm breath fanning out across her lips. He's such a presence, his domineering stature dwarfing her at this distance. Heat simmers beneath her skin as the hand that lies on his chest travels upward to his cheek.

"Norma." It's quick and mumbled, but she hears it, lets it gather inside her and shut off her inhibitions.

He presses himself to her fully, marvels at her intake of breath. There was nothing like the real thing that much he knew without having any evidence. She was what he truly wanted.

"I don't even want her." He mutters.

"What do you want?"

"Mother!" Norman's voice coupled with hurried footsteps on the stairs.

Dylan breaks away from her as if he's been burned. Norma can hardly breathe, though she manages to straighten herself.

Norman appears at the bottom of the stairs, his face stricken.

"What is it, honey?" She can't hide the flush on her skin and she knows Norman's noticed. It's in the way he glances between her and Dylan, who's equally disoriented and disheveled.

"I need to talk to you." He looks Dylan up and down. "In private."

Dylan raises his hands in a show of indifference. "Okay." He nods at Norma, his eyes secretive, his smile enticing. Something like need burns Norma up. "Night, Norma."

"Night, Dylan." Her eyes follow him all the way up the stairs. Norman notices.

"What was that all about?"

Norma smiles at him. "Nothing. What's up?"

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for before."

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close.

"It's all right, Norman. I'm sorry. I was out of line."

His lips hover above hers. "So, you want to go down to the Motel?"

She grins, but her eyes remain shadowed with an emotion he can't identify.

"Sure."

* * *

That night, the dreams come back. He's walking toward the motel, his boots crunching on the gravel, his hands in his pockets. For some reason, Cabin One isn't his destination; instead, it's the Motel Office then the parlor in the back. His eyes shift around the room, wondering what's drawn him here. That's when he hears it. Heavy breathing on the other side of the wall, joined by whispers. He turns toward the noises and lifts one of the pictures off the wall. A peephole comes into view, no bigger than a quarter. Norman leans down to peer through and finds his mother and his brother kissing with a passionate fury, trapped in an embrace just inches away from the bed. His mother makes a sound in the back of her throat that Norman knows well and he watches with bated breath as Dylan lowers her to the bed, his body pressing into her tight. Her hands skate down his back and Norman can't take anymore. He backs away from the peephole, his heart racing, his vision swimming. He runs out of the parlor, out of the office, far away from the motel and into the blackness of the night.

* * *

She hates lying to him. It burrows under her skin and eats away at her. He's slipping still, always slipping, like a handful of sand that she holds onto too tight. If he killed Beth Watson, then Norma didn't know what she was supposed to do. He clearly didn't remember or couldn't remember doing it, so she was going to keep on protecting him, safeguarding his truth as her own. But, didn't he deserve to know? Maybe telling him would make it easier to combat; they could fight it off together. Or perhaps Norma was lying to herself and Norman was as good as gone. There was the chance that nothing could be done and he would forever remain this way, silently insane, quietly dangerous.

The idea of that makes her heart lurch.

Being alone with him in Cabin One has become her safe haven, but this silence that came while he slept was her worst enemy. With a sigh, she cuddles closer to him, lets the warmth that radiates from his skin comfort her. She doesn't realize that his eyes have popped open in the darkness, so when his arms tighten around her, she startles.

"Mother…" Sleep stains his voice. "Are you all right?"

Her hand sneaks under his light blue t-shirt, her fingers drawing patterns on his stomach.

She doesn't know how to respond. If only she could spit out what she wanted to.

Norman's eyes find hers in the dark.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't."

He sits up, effectively disengaging their embrace. She feels cold all over. The lamp flicks on under his touch and subdued yellow light floods the room.

"Why can't you?" He sounds irritated and perhaps a bit frightened.

Norma shifts until she's in front of him, leaning on her knees and looking him straight in the eye.

"Norman, I need you to relax." She kisses him gently, wishes eternally that she didn't have to pull away. She wanted to be happy with him; he was her last chance.

And, that's why she has to tell him. If he found out some other way, there was no telling what kind of turn their relationship could take. "I'll tell you, but you need to listen."

She takes both his hands and pulls them into her lap. Uneasiness churns her stomach.

"Norman…Norman, your father's death wasn't an accident."

"What?" His eyes scrutinize her for an uncomfortable span of seconds. She knows what he's thinking and she hates it even more than she hates the truth.

"I didn't do it." There's a squeeze on his hands that could cut off his circulation. "I didn't do it, honey…you did."

Everything screeches to a halt. Norman's vision blurs and shakes and his mother becomes a dot on a distant horizon. He's heard of out of body experiences and this is what it must be. It's watching yourself plummet off a cliff without a parachute.

But, he finds a parachute in his mother's steadiness. Her voice saying words he can't understand helps him to stay afloat if only for a short time. What he wants to do is scream and rage and deny, but he can't seem to find the strength. Some part of him seems to know that she isn't lying and that terrifies him like nothing ever has.

"I killed him." It isn't a question. It isn't quite acceptance, either. It's just…a string of words that lace the air with something sinister.

Norma watches him, her blue eyes translucent with worry and heartache. Her hands are tied behind her back now; her cards are on the table and she has no control over the outcome.

"Why?"

"You were protecting me. He and I had been fighting again and you…" The rest dies on her tongue. That hollowness she'd seen in his eyes that day still haunts her. That person wasn't Norman, couldn't have possibly been Norman. Her Norman was sweet and kind, loving and devoted. The Norman she'd met that day was none of those things; he was an animal running on pure instinct, unmarred by emotions or humanity.

"You weren't yourself, honey. You didn't know what you were doing. It's like you became someone else and then woke up as yourself again."

Norman doesn't speak; he just stares off into the space behind her. She keeps going, just to alleviate the tension that's weighing her down.

"You don't have to worry. I'm going to protect you." Her hands rub along his thighs, up and down in a panicked fashion.

"Norman…Norman, talk to me, please."

He meets her gaze again. "Why don't you hate me?"

"What?"

"You should hate me. All of it is my fault. All of it."

His mother's reaction is immediate and fiery. "No. None of this is your fault and I could never hate you even if it were. I love you. I love you so much. You're the greatest thing in my life; the only thing worth fighting for. I'd do anything for you. Anything."

Her fingers tangle in his hair and tug his head forward. "I belong to you."

His face crumbles, his disbelief melting away and leaving behind a sweetness that warms her. He leans closer, his eyes sparkling, his mouth twisted up in a loving smile.

"I love you." He says as he pecks her lips. "I love you." He grabs her at the hips and forces her onto her back. "I love you." Another kiss, deeper, longer, more desperate as her legs wrap around him and keep him impossibly close.

He disengages first, his breathing labored. Her hands push his shirt up his back and over his head, tossing it to the side.

"I know." Her legs constrict around him, melding his lower body to hers.

A whimper pushes its way past his teeth. They fall back into each other's mouths and Norman tries his damnedest not to rush it or force anything that Norma wouldn't allow. He hands over the control, though he's not sure why it's so easy for him to do. Maybe that was the nature of love; having the ability to let yourself go at the whim of someone else.


	9. Fallout

He wakes up alone in the motel room with his arm spread across her side of the bed. He gathers her pillow to his chest, breathing in her scent. Silence isn't as frightening as it once was and it was because he had her. His guiding light, his calming oasis. He rolls back over and stares up at the ceiling, letting everything that was new between them wash over him. But, then, something happens. His eyes fall closed and his brain clouds over, the haze burying Norman and bringing someone else to the surface.

When his eyes open again, his pupils are dilated and the light in them has gone out.

* * *

At the house, Norma makes breakfast. It's Saturday morning and things are noticeably quiet. It soothes her to the point where she actually manages to convince herself that everything was back to normal. Well, normal for them, at least. Romero hadn't come back with any other questions and Norman seemed evened out; joyous, even. It made her feel safe enough to let her guard down. As it turned out, that wasn't such a good thing.

The front door creaks open and Norman enters, still dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, his hair disheveled, his hands clenching at his sides. His eyes are haunted, inhabited by someone else, but Norma doesn't see it. She's standing over the stove when he comes up behind her and melds their hips together. He wraps his arms around her, his grip snug but not unpleasant.

She reaches back to run her fingers through his hair. "Norman."

He bows his head and bites down hard on her pulse point. "Norman!" She slaps him lightly in the back of the head, but he does it again, harder than before. That's when she turns in his embrace and finds that he isn't her Norman.

His eyes are bleak, nearly lifeless. His skin is flushed and the smirk that crawls across his face sends terrified chills down her spine. The hold he has on her tightens to a painful degree as he leans closer.

"Mother." His tone is tainted by mania. He kisses her roughly, forcing himself on her and she recoils, shoving her palms into his shoulders in an effort to drive him backwards. It works, but it doesn't make her feel any better.

"Norman, stop." Pale lips peel away from white teeth. She steps backward toward the refrigerator and he follows, his eyes alight. He grabs her around the waist again, tugging her back to him with a fury.

"Stop! Norman, please."

What happens next is nothing more than a blur of motion to Norma. Norman gets pulled away from her and the next thing she knows, he's on the floor with Dylan standing over him, his hand clenched in a fist that's already bruising. Her younger son sits up and rubs at his cheek, his eyes blinking rapidly. The danger seems to have passed, but Dylan's anger hasn't.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He lunges for Norman again, but Norma gathers her senses enough to step between them, holding Dylan back through sheer force of will.

"Dylan, don't. It's okay."

"No, it's not fucking okay, Norma! He was…"

"I know. I know. Look at me." Her hands grasp at his face, keeping him with her in a place that was only theirs. His burning eyes cool and his fist opens.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She lets go of him and turns around, dropping to her heels so she can attend to Norman. He watches her with a cold expression, though she feels undeniably safer now. His cheekbone sports the same deep red color that Dylan's knuckles do.

"Norman." Her fingertips touch him tentatively as his gaze shifts away from her to focus on Dylan. Her older son-her protector-comes closer, his leather jacket creaking when he moves.

"Stop. Norman, stay with me." His eyes slide back to hers. She smiles at him gently and he seems to calm, the darkness scurrying away under the pressure of her devotion.

"Mother. What happened?" She breathes a sigh of relief, glad that her Norman is back and most importantly, that he doesn't remember his advance on her.

"Nothing happened, honey. Do me a favor. Go upstairs and take a shower. I'll drive you to Emma's."

"Okay." She helps him back up and he disappears up the stairs, away from them and the tangible tension in the room.

"What the hell was that?" Dylan's right beside her, his hand on her forearm, his expression worried.

"It wasn't him."

"Norma…"

"It wasn't him!" Her voice cracks around the edges as she yanks her arm away.

"How long are you going to use that excuse? It's getting worse, Norma. It's getting much worse. Or haven't you noticed?"

In a daze, she goes about making an ice pack, using it as an excuse to ignore him. She pulls his hand towards her and rests the ice over his swollen knuckles. She pulls it away again so she can press a kiss to his skin.

"Thank you."

"Mom, maybe we should send him away. You know, to an institution."

"No! I'm not doing that. I'll handle it."

Dylan rolls his eyes and sucks in an exasperated breath. "Norma…"

"I'll handle it." Determination strengthens her, but only slightly.

"Okay." Dylan stares down at her with soft eyes. "Just know that if he pulls that shit again, I'll really hurt him."

* * *

It's raining. Well, drizzling, actually. It taps lightly at the windows, lulling Norman into a peacefulness he hasn't felt in hours. Will's beside him, working over the corpse of an owl, pulling out a blood red mass that fits in the palm of his hand.

"The heart." He says. He drops the organ into an open jar. There are several other avian hearts lining the bottom of it and Norman stares, admiring the aesthetic.

"Will…have you ever…"

Will takes his eyes from his work to study Norman. The young boy taps incessantly at the surface of the work bench. He looks everywhere but at Will.

"Norman, is something wrong?"

When he meets Will's eyes again, all the blood has drained from his face and his deep blue eyes stand out, immaculate and haunted.

"Have you ever killed an animal?" His father had been one. A ravaging, deadly animal, untamed, unhinged, always too close for comfort. His mother had taken the brunt from him and Norman remembers lying in bed at night, listening to the cacophony of their relationship through the walls. His mother begging and pleading, his father unforgiving. Pain holds him tight.

Will shakes his head. "No, I haven't. I'm not in the business of taking life. I'm in the business of preserving it."

Norman chuckles. "Yeah, of course."

"Have you ever taken a life, Norman?"

"….Yeah. But, it was self-defense. A rabid dog in my old neighborhood."

Will's face slopes into an expression of sympathy. His friendliness cuts Norman to the bone.

"And, what did it make you feel?"

"I don't remember."

* * *

She drives. The rain speeds up and blurs the road past the windshield, but she keeps driving. All the way to the edge of town, all the way past that, to the dark embrace of the forest. She stops driving and sits in the silence, absorbing it, trying to quell the anxiety inside. The glove box flips open, the inside light illuminating the barrel of her gun and throwing the glint onto her face. She takes it and weighs it in her hand, her gaze traveling over it and memorizing the details. Her hand tightens on the handle as she turns the pistol to look her straight in the eye. The muzzle mocks her and she takes it, seeing the temptation, the chance for freedom, the escape. Her thumb finds the trigger. One last movement and it could be over. One squeeze and she could finally leave it behind.

Something she can't name stops her. The emptiness and the brokenness don't stand a chance against that place inside her that needs to stay alive; that part of her that wants to save her son more than anything. The hand holding the gun drops to her lap.

Not yet.

* * *

Dylan breaks up with Bradley that afternoon. He spouts some scripted bullshit and she buys it because she doesn't know any better. Inside, he begins to crumble. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared out of his mind. He spent every waking second fearing for his mother and he hated that feeling more than any other.

He gets back to the motel and finds that there isn't anyone around. Norma and Norman are both out. Emma's there, though, sitting in the office and holding down the fort. Dylan doesn't know why he goes to see her; maybe he just doesn't want to be alone.

Judging from the way Emma's face lights up when he enters, she doesn't, either.

"Hi, Dylan."

"Hey, Emma. What's going on?"

She gestures to the empty room. "Not much."

Dylan laughs at her, hopelessly endeared. "Yeah, I can see that." He steps past her toward the parlor. "Damn, you guys fixed this place up, huh?"

Her oxygen tank clanks on the wood floor as she stands up. "Yeah, Norma and I went to the store the other day."

He practically falls into one of the chairs. Exhaustion is obvious in his slack posture.

He points to the other chair. "Sit."

She does without hesitation.

"Are you all right?"

Dylan sits up a little higher. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just...haven't been sleeping that well."

"Me neither. There's been a lot of shit going on these past few weeks."

"That's an understatement." Another laugh bursts from the back of his throat. "I heard about that teacher. What the hell happened?"

"Nobody knows. They say the killer cleaned the fingerprints off the knife and fled out the back door. No one saw anything." She pauses for a moment, deliberating. "There's a rumor going around school that Norman was the last person to see her alive. He was serving detention with her that afternoon."

The glass wall holding back Dylan's despair shatters. Could Norman have killed her? Followed her home, slashed her throat and ran? Jesus Christ.

"Really?"

The office door opens and Norma's footsteps echo, four inch heels clicking and getting closer.

"Hey, guys." They both nod in greeting. Dylan observes his mother and finds that she's strung out and worn down, her eyes glassy, her face crestfallen.

She turns to Emma in an effort to avoid Dylan's silent scrutiny. "Emma, honey, you can go home."

"Okay. Good night." They both watch her leave and then, there's just the two of them and a pregnant silence.

Dylan stands up and comes to her, his entire body tense. "Norma."

"Hi." She mutters.

He gives a loaded grin. "Norma…did Norman kill his teacher?"

Her eyes lose his, choosing instead to scan the room in a saddened stupor.

"Norma."

"I don't know." It's nothing more than a whisper, but Dylan can hear her agony. Hell, he can feel it. It tears him apart. "I don't know. I think so."

"You think so? Goddamnit, Norma. When were you planning on telling me this?"

She locks eyes with him. Her pain is transparent. "I…" She nearly collapses into him and he embraces her, keeping her close and breathing her in. His warmth is steady. He still isn't used to being the source of her comfort; she's usually the source of his.

She nuzzles into his chest and he holds her a little tighter, pressing a kiss to her hair. Her scent throws him off his axis. Soft fingertips sneak under the collar of his t-shirt and dance along his skin.

"I don't know what to do, Dylan." Fright squeezes down on her vocal cords. "I can't…I can't send him away. I could never do that to him."

Dylan doesn't know what to say. He knows that sending Norman away is the only sane option, but he has no idea how to make Norma see that.

"It's okay, Norma. It's okay. We'll figure out something. I promise."

She raises her head. "I'm so sorry that I've dragged you into this."

"I'm going to do everything I can to protect you. I swear."

A sweet little smile shines up at him and he returns it, feeling nothing but love for the woman in his arms. His worst enemy had become the only person he would always safeguard.

"Thank you."

He shrugs. "It's nothing."

Her hand grabs him at the back of the neck, her fingers stroking along the skin. The arm around his waist tightens, those fingers digging into his side and setting his nerves on fire. She's the one who leans in and covers the minimal space between them, but he's the one who kisses her, the caress of his lips gentle and desperate. He turns her around, backing her into the wall as her hands grope at his belt. He's busy pushing her skirt up and dragging her panties down her legs, but he groans when her fingers brush too close to his need. She finishes the job and wraps both legs around him, using them to pull him close and give him the hint.

He takes it, driving himself inside her, feeling the spell being cast on him immediately.

"Norma." His mouth finds hers again and he knows this is his fate. He'll never shake the hold she has on him and honestly, he doesn't want to because she's his and that's all that matters.

* * *

They don't know he's there, but he is, watching them through the glass panel on the door, his eyes glowing with rage and envy. He can't move, so trapped he is by this sight. The sight of his brother and his mother, locked in an age old dance. Dylan holds her up against the wall, his thrusts inside her hard and fast. She's got one leg around him while the other is stretched out, her toes pressing into the edge of the desk, the tendons in her leg pronounced. Norman can hardly breathe, staring into the eyes of his worst nightmare, watching his mother throw her head back and tighten her hold on Dylan. He tries to back away, but his feet refuse to comply. He tries to turn the doorknob, but his fingers are frozen in place, clenching around the cool metal. No sound leaves him when he tries to scream and no tears fall when he closes his eyes and tries to force the heartache out. When he opens them again, he sees Dylan has collapsed into Norma's embrace, his shoulders heaving from the exertion. Norma kisses his face and keeps him close, her eyes still closed, her hands restlessly running along his back. That's when Norman finds that he can finally move and so he does, sprinting up to the house with his heart pounding in his ears.

He didn't know what to do and he feared what kind of answer would stem from his confusion.


	10. There's A Calm Before The Storm

He doesn't recognize the person he sees in the mirror. The sunken cheeks, the sullen eyes, the blood drained face; it's all too lifeless to be him. This person was a shadow that could be swept away by the setting sun. He stares at himself until he starts to disappear, until he's looking past himself, until there's nothing left of him except the blood on his hands and the ache in his heart.

He tries not to think of her, but she's there anyway, in the dull pain that takes up the space behind his eyes. His eyes are just like hers and he stares into them until he sees her face in place of his own. An urge to destroy it overtakes him. He wants to remove every trace of her in this unbearably vulnerable second. He wants to scrape at his skin and forcibly rip the pieces away.

He wants her gone so bad he can't stand it. His head pounds and his knees falter. The world outside becomes a distant memory that he doesn't even attempt to hold onto. It slides through his fingers and he lets it, thinking this fate better than any other. His entire body convulses and he ends up bent over the toilet, emptying the meager contents of his stomach.

* * *

At her request, he drives her out of town. The sun is just beginning to rise, the slightest of orange tints appearing on the horizon. He takes her to a clearing in the mountains where you can close your eyes and convince yourself you're the last person on Earth. It's almost ethereal and in the tailspin that is their lives, it's his last refuge.

They sit in the bed of the truck, Norma with her knees pulled up to her chest, Dylan with his legs stretched out in front of him. The pregnant silence makes him uneasy, but it's better than being alone. He glances over at her and watches the muscles in her jaw bunch up.

"Norma. Tell me what you want me to do."

Her eyes silently scream for help and Dylan feels powerless to fend off her snarling demons.

"I don't want you to do anything. I just want you to be here with me." She presses into his side and his arm goes around her of its own accord. She's warm and she's present, but when he closes his eyes, he can feel her slipping away.

* * *

Déjà vu hits him like a freight train when Emma appears in the bathroom doorway. He swipes at his mouth and crinkles his nose at the smell that still lingers in the air.

"Hey. I knocked but you didn't answer. Are you all right?"

He moves to stand up but his legs don't want to hold him, so he stays on the floor, wearing a lost puppy expression and refusing to meet her eyes.

"I'm okay."

She comes closer and for some reason, he feels the need to slide further away. His back collides with the bath tub.

"Norman." She kneels down so they're face to face. She balances one hand on her oxygen tank and stretches the other out to him.

"Come on." He stares at her offer for a good minute before he gives in. His hand latches onto hers and she helps him up, practically dragging out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

* * *

Norma falls asleep with her head in his lap. Her soft breathing is the only sound for miles and Dylan allows it to lull him away from his disparaging thoughts. Everything seems to fall away. He convinces himself they're the last two people on Earth. He revels in that feeling and it calms him further.

He prays for a quick end to the calamity, but he knows no one's listening.

* * *

Emma takes care of him for the rest of the morning, making him breakfast, ordering him to shower, watching an old movie with him on the couch. Soon enough, the movie fades into the background and Norman's left grasping at any mental holding he can find to keep himself aware and away from the memories of his mother and his brother.

Emma must see the signs of his struggle on his face because her hand finds his thigh and her face bleeds worry.

"Are you all right?"

He's learned not to lie to her. She can see right through him; the ability to read bullshit is a gift she's always had and she's spent every year of her short life honing it.

"No." He figures that part was probably obvious, but it was the simplest place to start. He was not okay.

Emma doesn't look surprised at the admission. She just nods and waits for him to continue.

"I feel…I feel like I'm fading." The black and white images from the TV cast light on his face and she can see the confusion gathering beneath his skin. The uncertainty is clearly devouring him, the struggle all too real and impossible to win.

"What do you mean?"

"I just…I feel like I'm not here. I mean, I'm here but there's someone else here with me." He presses the pad of his index finger into his temple. "I feel like they're trying to kill me."

Sympathy flashes through her eyes. She knew that feeling; there was someone else with her, too. Her disease. The cystic fibrosis that kept her trapped in a battle she couldn't even pray to win. She didn't quite understand what Norman was getting at, but she could appreciate it.

"There's something wrong with me, Emma." The tears start falling and Emma has no choice but to lean forward and pull him to her. He buries his face in her neck as his sobs become more violent. His fingers dig in to the back of her shoulder and she can feel his tears marking her skin. She tries to be as comforting as she can, but she doesn't know how to honestly help him.

It was yet another battle she wasn't destined to win.

* * *

Will shows him how to make a bird appear to still be in flight. It was in the way you spread its wings. A stuffed bird with its wings spread wide was the kind of thing that could convince Norman that life hadn't been lost. The beauty of motion preserved meant that the bird's purpose in life was still intact. It's something Norman can identify with. Trapped in the midst of escape, caught in a phase between life and death, forever clutched in the hands of fate.

He puts the owl on his bedside table, maneuvering it so the gold eyes just catch the light. Juno's still under the bed, but he doesn't think about her. He gets so distracted staring at his newest decoration that he doesn't realize his mother's behind him until her arms are firm around his waist.

"What is it, Mother?" He takes two steps and her arms fall away. Another moment passes before he finds the strength to turn to her.

"What's going on with you? You've been short with me for days now."

"Nothing's wrong, Mother." He can't look at her.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Why don't you go find Dylan? He's who you want anyway."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He scoffs. "Nothing." He takes her by the shoulders and forces her backward so he can sidestep her and leave the room. She follows behind him, exasperated.

"Norman, get back here." Their footsteps echo on the stairs, his expedited, hers even more so.

"Norman." He stops abruptly at the bottom of the stairs. She grabs his arm and keeps him still. He's a ball of energy under her touch, desperate to escape.

"What's going on?" Norman spins on his heel. That feeling comes back. The one that makes him want to wipe her off the face of the planet.

"What's going on with you and Dylan?"

Her hand falls back to her side. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. I saw you the other night." The memories bombard him and the anger comes back, multiplied by thousands. He wants her gone. He wants to rip her to shreds. He wants her to feel his pain. He wants her to understand what she's done.

"What?"

"In the Motel Office."

His mother fixes him with a hard stare. "We weren't doing anything."

His hands itch. He focuses on the porcelain skin at her neck, marvels at the delicate way she swallows. The urge to wrap his hands around her throat builds up inside him. He remembers the dream about drowning Bradley and realizes that this is what that felt like. Draining her of her life felt like this. That bubbling lust at the back of his throat, that haze eating away at his logic, that desire gripping tight on his heart. Pain drives him, but somehow, he manages to keep it wrapped. Just barely. He sucks in a deep breath and feels the urge become greater and greater until there's sweat on his palms and his heart is at a full blown gallop.

"Whatever."

"Look, I don't know what you thought you saw but we were just talking. I swear."

He wants to hurt her and that's why he shakes his head and turns away. He's mere steps from the door when she speaks up.

"Norman, what are you doing?"

"I'm leaving." He glances back at her for the slightest second. "I don't want to hurt you."

The door slams and Norma's left alone, feeling helpless and exhausted. There was no chance of riding out this storm, no chance of bringing peace back. This wouldn't end well, that much she knew. The problem was, she didn't know how to turn the sails and keep the ship afloat with herself and her sons inside.


	11. Soul Of A Woman

Behind closed eyes, there's nothing but raging yellow fire. He watches Remo burn over and over and from the pile of ashes, Norma appears. She's on fire, too, pieces of her falling away and charring into nothingness.

He calls her name, but she can't hear him over the roaring flames. She collapses mere feet away and he watches the corpse burn. He screams, though nothing comes to save him. The flames take him, too, and he's left basking in the sound of his own destruction.

* * *

Norman returns home hours later to find Norma sitting on the stairs. Her eyes are puffy and tear stains track down her cheeks. The sight pains him, but not enough to make any difference. So, he stays there, just observing her. It's only when she rises to her feet that he even makes an effort to look interested in what she has to say.

"Where have you been?"

He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. "Nowhere."

His jacket falls from his shoulders. He drapes it over a kitchen chair and feels his mother close in on his back.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Her lips trail along the back of his neck and Norman feels a shiver shoot up his spine. He hates the effect she has on him; she's destroyed him and she doesn't even seem to care. Dirty, rotten liar. Images plague him still. He knows what he saw. He knows what she did and he wasn't prepared to ever forgive her for it. But, her hands play along the edge of his waist and his higher brain function starts to fail him.

Stupid. He shakes his head and turns to her. His face gives away his agitation.

"Norman, what's going on?" She stares at him, then her expression lights up in realization. "Are you still on the thing with Dylan? Because I told you…"

"Yeah, yeah, nothing happened. I know." He sidesteps her yet again. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." The part about feeling the irresistible urge to kill her he wisely leaves out. He couldn't hurt her; he wouldn't hurt her, no matter what she did to him. His biggest fear was that that wasn't entirely true.

She still follows him and his heart clenches tight in his chest. Breath leaves him all at once as he turns back to her. All he can feel is the pain she's caused him.

"You believe me, don't you?" She's situated on the bottom step, looking up at him with shining eyes that do nothing to alleviate the battle inside him.

He paints on a smile that doesn't even begin to convince her.

"Sure."

Her hands grab at his waist again. She gets closer, right up in his face and her body heat burns him alive and leaves him helpless. Her fingers slide into his belt loops.

"Norman."

This woman was impossible to resist, that much would always be true, despite all the ways she devastated him, he would always find himself in this position, staring down into bright blue eyes and being completely unable to say no.

So, he kisses her. Her hands push him backward up the stairs in the direction of her bedroom. He ends up on the bed with her above him, his hands cupping her face and keeping her close. The slightest pressure from her end lands him on his back and suddenly, there's nowhere to go because she situates herself on top of him and he can no longer discern his anger from his lust.

* * *

Gill gives him Jerry Martin's old office. It's empty now, devoid of the stuff that used to give it its personality. The human touch is gone and now, it's something like an hollowed out corpse. Dylan can't find his bearings in this place, so he leaves quick as he came. He goes to a local convenience store and stocks up on booze. Jim Beam and Buds and Jack Daniels. It takes all of his restraint not to start drinking behind the wheel. He'd rather not see Norma at the moment, so he steals the room key to Cabin One. He settles in and drinks himself into a stupor to the point where the alcohol loses its burn.

He sits back and stares up at the ceiling, chasing shadows that play along the plaster. Behind his eyes, the blaze has yet to dissipate. Flames roar and his insides catch fire, egged on by far too much ethanol.

The blaze engulfs him in silence and Dylan fights to ignore the sting.

* * *

Norman's lulled awake by the sound of the shower running. The bed is warm and her scent lingers in the air. He hates it. The bed creaks as he moves to stand up. His muscles ache and there are places where his skin is inflamed from her nails digging in.

He trudges to the kitchen, feeling worse for wear. She had a knack for wearing him out to the point where he could no longer see straight. Nevertheless, he finds what he's looking for in the cabinet under the sink. His mother had had a garden when they'd lived in Southern California. They didn't live there for more than a couple months, but in that time, she'd gotten very protective of her crops. Gophers had threatened the livelihood of the plants and Norma had decided to resort to drastic measures to keep them away.

Strychnine. He could still recall the sight of one unlucky gopher convulsing. Frothing at the mouth, limbs twitching, incoherent noises passing through it's mouth. It had been a vulgar thing to witness, agonizing in every way. He wasn't sure why she kept the stuff around now, though he was glad she did. It would come in handy tonight.

He crushes two pellets into fine powder and goes about making her a hot cup of tea. He adds in a dash of honey that he hopes will block the taste of the poison before he sweeps the powder in.

The walk up the stairs back to her room is far too anxious. The cup rattles in his hands and little droplets of tea fall over the side, hitting the carpeted stair and leaving behind a dark stain. He finds her at her vanity table running a thick brush through her wet hair.

"Hi, honey." She says. "I was wondering where you'd gone."

"I was making you some tea. I added honey just how you like it."

A sweet little smile spreads across her face. He puts the tea down and sits beside her, his eyes on her reflection in the mirror. She leans over to kiss him and he lets her, savoring the softness of her mouth. Nothing was ever built to last. This relationship, especially. After a few sips, she goes back to brushing her hair. He observes like a scientist looking through a microscope. She's beautiful, all perfectly structured lines and porcelain skin. The sight of her always made him stop cold despite the rage that had slowly built up inside. He's done with her now, but he still loves her. It was a simple fact that the part of him that never wanted to see her again cried out louder and more frequently. The part that needed her, worshiped her, loved her, was in love with her, was being pushed to the wayside where it couldn't be heard or responded to.

Something crosses over her face and he knows the poison's begun its rigorous quest through her veins. She glances over at him and her eyes are big. He stands up and moves behind the bench where he can watch her reflection instead of having to look her in the face. She tries to stand, but her legs fail her and she crashes to the floor.

She chokes on the syllables in his name as he takes three steps back. His face gives nothing away, though his heart aches and his mind screams. He watches in spite of the crash course happening inside him. He needed to see this, needed to watch her die. He had to know she was gone, that she truly couldn't hurt him anymore.

He wouldn't survive otherwise.

* * *

"Norma!" The door slams. His footsteps are hectic and drunken and his mind is far too blurred. Atomic bombs go off behind his eyes and he cringes, the headache powerful and immediate. He doesn't let that stop him. He needs her. He always needs her.

"Norma!" That's when he realizes that the house is too quiet. There's no reaction to his entry, no annoyed voice coming from any direction. It scares him. A ball of dread weighs down on his stomach as he checks Norman's room. Nothing. His heart pounds in his ears when he gets to Norma's door. There's something wrong.

When the door creaks open, she's the first thing he sees. She's sprawled on the floor, her head cocked to the side, her eyes wide open and unseeing.

"Norma." It leaves him on a choked whisper. "Mom."

He kneels down to find that she's frothing at the mouth and that the muscles in her face and shoulders are hyperextended. There's no pulse and Dylan suddenly can't breathe. He stumbles back to his feet. He turns and finally sees Norman dressed in his pajamas, lying hapless on the bed, clutching tight to one of their mother's pillows.

"Norman. Norman, what happened?" His hand lands on his little brother's shoulder. "Norman."

He turns his head and there's nothing to indicate despair on his face. It's blank and Dylan feels a chill crawl up his spine. There are tears in his own eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. Not until he knows what the hell happened.

"Norman, what happened?"

Norman's bottom lip trembles. "I don't know…I don't know."


	12. Thy Fearful Symmetry

Norma Bates' wake is a small gathering. Her sons and Emma Decody and various residents of White Pine who'd taken a secret liking to her. Sheriff Romero's there, too, but he's mostly just observing from a distance. His gut has told him that something isn't right and he's afraid Norma's younger son is the reason why.

He stands at the back of the room, his eyes flitting back and forth between the open coffin and the chairs in the front row, where Dylan and Norman sit, listening intently to the pastor's words of fellowship and grief. Romero never was a big fan of funerals; they always seemed so forced. But, this woman, Norma Bates, she'd been something else. Something he hadn't known quite how to handle. Even in this moment, he wonders if there was something he could've done for her, anything to save her from this grotesque fate.

* * *

Everyone offers their condolences to Dylan. Norman's blank just as he was that night, his eyes staring straight ahead, his back erect. Dylan tells the guests that Norman's still in shock, but he isn't sure if that's true. He talks to Emma and keeps his peripheral on Norman. His little brother stands and moves in slow motion to the coffin. His hands folded in front of him, his head bowed, his eyes wide open.

"Is he going to be okay?" Emma's voice floats to him.

"I hope so. He was in shock, barely breathing when I found him. He's hardly had time to recover."

"Dylan." Sheriff Romero looks run down, far worse than Dylan's ever seen him. His suit is rumpled and his face is lined with what seems to be despair.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." His hand shake is deliberate, powerful. Dylan feels dwarfed in this man's presence. He always has.

"Thank you, sir." Be polite had always been Norma's favorite piece of fortune cookie advice. He glances over in the corpse's direction and everything inside him constricts.

"Look, I know this isn't the best time, but I need to ask you something. Have you gone to Norman and asked him what exactly happened?"

Dylan chokes on the lump in his throat. "He said he came home from a walk and found her like that. He doesn't remember her acting strangely beforehand."

"What he was like when you found him?"

"He was in complete shock curled up in her bed, staring off into space. Listen, Sheriff, I know what you're suggesting, but this is what I'm telling you. My little brother did not kill our mother. He wouldn't…it's not…" He doesn't know what the end of that sentence was supposed to be. It's not like him to kill? No, it's not like him to kill in this manner. Poison wasn't personal enough.

"I need you to stop this, okay? Norman's been through enough without you harassing him. Please, for decency's sake, leave it alone."

Romero walks away without another word and Dylan feels Emma's hand on his shoulder.

"You did the right thing." She says. Dylan has a hard time believing it.

* * *

She looks peaceful. It's like she's just sleeping and in a minute, she'll wake up and forgive him and everything could go back to the way it was. 'I love you, Norman.' She'd say and he'd smile at her and pull her close. But, it won't happen. She's gone and it's his fault and the guilt is unbearable. He'd promised her this wouldn't be them. He'd promised that he'd be different, better than the others, but he's worse instead. He took her life and he can't give it back.

He turns his head to find Will standing beside him.

"I'm truly sorry, Norman. Children should never have to bury their parents."

Except for those who kill both their parents. Norman nods at him anyway. He can't speak; he fears that anything he says could give him away.

"If you ever need to vent, Emma and I are here for you."

"Thank you, Will." He looks back at his mother. Her face serene in eternal sleep, her hands clasped in her lap, her body stiff in the aftermath of the strychnine's destructive influence.

* * *

Norman goes home with Will and Emma, so Dylan stays behind. Everyone's long gone, the funeral home itself a mere half hour from closing, but he's still here, sitting alone with his mother's corpse. He leans forward in his chair, tapping his foot restlessly. What in the hell was he supposed to do now? His promise to protect her had backfired in the worst way possible and now, he didn't which way was up.

He stands up slowly. His legs are weak, his heart even weaker, but he manages to get to her. The tears fall without warning and he basks in them. This is how he knows he's real.

He feels this like he's never felt anything.

He reaches his hand out to touch her, but stops just short of her cheek. It's impossible. This couldn't be fucking happening.

The sobs wrack him harder. His hands grip at the edge of the coffin as he leans over her.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

* * *

He's drunk again. Stumbling, keening, overtly damaged and crying out for help. Norman's in the kitchen, sitting at the head of the table, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes staring off into nothingness. Dylan can't think straight locked in the clutches of alcohol, but goes to his brother anyway. He still needed answers and he still didn't have any.

"Hey, Norman." His words careen.

His brother looks at him, but his eyes give away the fact that he's still somewhere else. He ducks his head again. Dylan knows that feeling; it's been gnawing at his skull for days.

Silence overtakes the room and Dylan can feel it closing in on them, overbearing and suffocating.

"Norman, I need you to be honest. What actually happened?"

Norman looks up at him again. His usually blue eyes are pitch black.

"I told you what happened."

"Tell me again."

There's another lengthy pause. It's deep and it's sinister and it puts Dylan even further on edge. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong and if he didn't figure out what, he was going to fling himself off a cliff. Anything would feel better than this.

"It was my fault." Norman's tone is soft, almost nonexistent. Dylan barely hears him.

"What was your fault?"

"Everything. All I ever did was hurt her. That's why she ran to you. I let her down."

Dylan blows out a shaky breath.

His little brother smiles. It's tinged with fruitless understanding. "I don't blame you. It wasn't you. It was me. You never hurt her like I did. You were there for her. I was just the problem that needed to be handled. She used me. She tried to appease me. It didn't work because I knew; I knew what you and she had been up to. I made her pay for it."

"You…"

"Me."

Boundless, terrifying dread gathers inside Dylan and blocks up his windpipe. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. His mouth wouldn't cooperate with his brain.

Somewhere there's rage, sticky and white, but he can't reach it. It isn't anywhere nearby. Norman's words ring along with Norma's words from so long ago.

'He doesn't know what he was doing so he needs to be protected.'

But, how about when he knew what he was doing? He killed her because she went looking comfort he couldn't provide. He took her life because she needed something she couldn't find in anyone, not even Dylan. She needed protection, true, honest protection and on that front, they'd both failed her. Dylan swallows. This was as much his fault as it was Norman's. He should've tried harder to make her see that Norman needed real help, but he'd been too busy falling in love with her, greedily taking her attention and her love and giving none of it back in a way that could've saved her.

'I can't send him away, Dylan. I could never do that to him.'

"She loved you, you know." Dylan's words are sharp. "She loved you a hell of a lot more than she loved me."

"No, she didn't love me. She hated me. I took everything from her." He killed Sam. Without meaning to, he'd forced them to this fucking town. He went out to that party when he could've protected her from Summers. He kept Summers' belt and indirectly put her in jail. He found the girl in the basement and forced Shelby's retaliation. Yes, she had indeed hated him, no matter how hard she'd tried to prove otherwise.

Dylan doesn't know what to say to that. Norman had convinced himself of this and for some reason, Dylan feels sorry for him. Some other part of him wanted to wring his neck for killing Norma, but it was still waiting around.

"She was a liar, Dylan. She'd always been a liar. We were nothing but pawns to her."

That's when everything erupts. Dylan's in his face immediately, his hand tight around Norman's neck.

"No. She needed us. She loved us and we let her down. We destroyed her. You destroyed her." He squeezes tight and Norman starts to wheeze, his eyes getting bigger with every struggling breath.

It'd be easy to do it. Easy to break his scrawny neck, but he can't. No part of him wants to do this. He's not Norman. He's better than Norman. His grip loosens and releases and Norman falls forward, coughing violently and watching Dylan turn away.

"I should turn you in." Dylan says the words with his back turned. "But, I won't. Norma wouldn't want that. So, I'm going to leave you here. I'm moving out. I can't live with you. I can't look at you, but I'll spare you this one last kindness. I'm sorry, Norman. Really, I am."


	13. Some Devil

He's stashed all of it. The five thousand Ethan had given him plus scrapes of his salary that he hadn't spent on his truck. Altogether, he has eight thousand dollars socked away. It's under his mattress, wrapped in an envelope. He puts it on top of his clothes in the suitcase and presses the lid down. That's it. All of his belongings are packed and he has enough money to get him the fuck out of this place. That's what he needed: a new start, a new town away from the craziness and the drama and the truth of what Norman is.

Dylan was done with all of it.

* * *

Dylan leaves sometime in the dead of night. Norman hears him treading down the stairs lugging something heavy behind him. It doesn't faze Norman. He'd been waiting for this and it didn't bother him in the slightest. He hadn't needed to kill Dylan. He just had to drive him away. Everything was quiet now, but nothing was calm. His mind raced round and round in circles. She was there behind his eyes the way she'd been for months. He should've known she wouldn't leave him that easy. Her life was gone, but her spirit remained lodged deep inside him. It gripped tight and refused to let go.

He lays in bed for what seems like hours staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of the outside world. Cars going by, horns honking, the distant calls of wild animals. He listens until all of that begins to fade into the background. A buzzing noise fills in his head space and he closes his eyes to it.

"Norman." His eyes snap open. It couldn't be. He sits up and finds his bedroom empty. She's not here.

His head falls back to the pillow. Thoughts jumble together at warp speed and her voice breaks in again, louder than before.

"Norman."

He lifts his head and she's there, standing in the corner of the room, wearing a knee length black dress with a plunging neckline. Her eyes sparkle blue and Norman can't breathe.

"Mother."

She gets closer as Norman sits up once again. He feels exposed and vulnerable.

"Mother…I…killed you." The convulsions, the bulging eyes, the gagging. He remembers every agonizing second of it. It was burned into his retinas.

"No." She says. "Not all of me."

He didn't know what that meant. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He just continues to watch her wearily, waiting for the cutting words and the disappointment. But, that isn't what she offers. Instead, she says,

"Now, listen to me, Norman. This is what I want you to do."

* * *

It's four o'clock in the morning and he's not alone. He's carrying her through darkened back streets, trying his damnedest to avoid detection despite the lateness of the hour and the emptiness of the night.

"You're a good boy, Norman, coming to my rescue." He nods at her, but he can't really think straight. She's getting heavier with every step he takes.

"Mother, if you…"

"No, Norman. You do what I say. It's not the other way around."

"Yes, mother." His eyes roll upward and he hopes she doesn't see.

"Good boy. Now, hurry up. We're almost there."

* * *

Neither of Norma Bates' sons attend her funeral. It goes by in slow motion and no one there makes a mention of the suspiciousness of the absence. Romero doesn't even wonder where either of them has gone. He isn't surprised that they've bailed. They seemed like such fragile kids, broken in all the ways that were obvious and still indecipherable. It was a strange thing really that this family had been so close. Romero could see the cracks in the foundation, the cracks in Norma's foundation, the oddness of her relationship with her younger son. It had fascinated him and also disturbed him. He'd found himself wondering on more than one occasion just what Norma had done to her children.

He supposed it didn't really matter now. Norma was dead and her sons were falling apart piece by piece by piece.

Dylan had been right. It was better to stay away.

* * *

Two days pass and Norman doesn't go to school or answer a single text message. They're mostly from Emma, though there's a stray one from Bradley that makes his entire body lock up. He doesn't sleep and he doesn't eat. He watches movies, but his attention never lasts long. He tries to read, but the words blur together on the pages and the meaning becomes indiscernible.

It's Saturday afternoon when a knock on the door startles him out of yet another stupor.

Who he finds standing behind it is the last person he ever expected to see.

"Hi, Bradley."

"Hi, Norman." She's holding a casserole dish in her hands and something inside him jolts. What the hell was she doing?

"Uhhh, come in." She steps past him and he watches her closely, trying to read the signals. She seems tense in the shoulders.

Her eyes flit around the room. "Is Dylan here, too?"

He tries not to let it get to him. It was a logical question. Their mother was dead, after all.

"No, he, uh, he moved out." He leads her into the kitchen and eyes her as she puts the casserole dish on the table.

"It's green bean." She says. "It's one of my specialties." She sends him a winning smile and his heart speeds up. God, this girl would be the death of him.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you."

"So, you're going to live here by yourself? Run the motel and everything?"

His eyebrows furrow. He was never actually alone. Ever.

"Yeah. It won't be so bad. I'll have Emma and Will to check up on me." He secretly hoped he could get them to stay away, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

"And me." She says.

"Yeah." An awkward silence settles between them. He wrings his hands and avoids her eyes. Then, he lets out a nervous chuckle.

"Well, sit down. I'm not going to eat this by myself." Happiness takes over her face and Norman can't breathe. She looks like his mother when she smiles like that. Something dark nestles its way under his skin. It's the same urge he felt when he saw his mother and his brother in the motel office. The urge to maim and destroy. He ignores all of it as he sets two plates on the table.

They eat in relative silence, but it's oddly comforting. He hasn't felt this serene around her in a long time. It's a welcome change of pace. Aside from the nagging feeling in the back of his skull wouldn't leave him alone.

She goes to the bathroom and he's left washing the dishes, shaking his head to himself. Norma's here in the chill that rides up his spine, in the tremble of his fingers beneath the faucet, in the voice that rings out from beside him.

"She's a pretty one. Too bad that's all she's good for."

He shuts his eyes tight, refuses to look over at her. "Mother, please."

"It's the truth. What did you ever see in her?"

Now, he does glance over at her. She's expectant. He laughs at her.

"Isn't it obvious, Mother? I saw you." He smiles wide, his eyes alight. Yes, he had seen her in Bradley's every movement. The blonde hair, the blue eyes, the damage that couldn't be repaired by just one man.

His mother scoffs. "Whatever."

"Don't be like that. She's not…"

"Norman?" Bradley stands at the bottom of the stairs, her face reading utter confusion. "Who're you talking to?"

"No one." He turns and leans back against the sink. His mother's still beside him, but he refuses to look at her. Her voice is all he can hear.

"Tramp. I wonder if she had sex with Dylan, too. I wouldn't put it past her."

The young girl takes the necessary steps to reach him and Norman shuts his eyes again. He feels her fingers on the edge of his collarbone. His breath hitches.

"Norman." Norma's voice again.

"Norman, open your eyes." He does and Bradley's there, all warm eyes and pretty smile. His heart speeds up.

"If you ever need anything, just call or text me, okay?"

He nods and her lips brush his cheek. Norma breaks in again.

"Please. Don't tell me you still want this whore."

"Thank you." He says as Bradley turns away from him and starts heading to the front door.

"Norman, you're not going to let her leave, are you?"

"Why not, Mother?"

"Norman." The kitchen drawer opens under the touch of his fingers. The knife glints silver in the yellow light and Norman sees his own fingers wrap around it.

His mother's over his shoulder. "Let's get rid of her."

* * *

There's blood everywhere. It stains the carpet deep black and Norman can't scrub it away. The body's in the bathtub upstairs. He'll have to dump it in the dead of night just like they'd done with Keith Summers. He gives up on the carpet and heads up the stairs toward her room. She's lying in bed and his thoughts race around incoherently.

"It'll be done, Mother." He says.

"Good." The smile is present in her voice.

His footsteps thump on the carpet. He leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. She's ice cold, but he doesn't know what that means.

All he knows is that he'll protect her, no matter what it takes. He refused to let her down ever again.


End file.
